


Importance

by XenakisFox



Category: Splatoon
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, awkward idiot boys, but a little spicy, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 14:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15438810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XenakisFox/pseuds/XenakisFox
Summary: Y'know when you're chilling with your bro, and he asks you to make out a little? Haha, yeah. Just bros, though.Extremely indulgent fluff. Enjoy.





	Importance

“What is this?”

The question catches Agent 3 off guard as his mismatched eyes peel away from the television screen to focus on his confused octoling friend. 8 sits perched on the edge of the sofa they share, legs together, hands on his knees. Everything about his body language is ansty, but curious. But that was normal.

3 shrugs, and gestures vaguely towards the screen. “Some old human movie that was dug up a couple years ago.”

“Human… movie?”

“Yeah,” 3 raises an eyebrow at him, “I’ve already seen it, but some of the action in it never gets old.” With Agent 4 hogging the rec space in Tentakeel Outpost, 3 had taken refuge in an older hideout for the Squidbeak Splatoon. Nearby, in the next sector, but a ways out of earshot from whatever garble his fellow agent was streaming. Agent 1 had introduced him to the room, funnily enough. One of many things passed down to him as the third agent, he supposed.

Agent 3 invited Agent 8 as a show of fraternity, as he clearly hadn't been enjoying 4’s media taste either. That, and he’d taken to his company much easier than anyone before. Peculiar, considering their differences and history.

He’d since turned it into a proper crash pad, complete with string lights, eclectic furniture, and plenty of old ‘DVDs’ of action films from thousands of years ago.

“Those are humans, then.” 8 points to the screen where two of them are having a conversation about something in a language 3 couldn't understand.

“Uh, yeah?” 3 answers. 

“I see.” 8 stares intently at the television, watching as the two humans embrace each other. “What are they doing now?”

3’s expression deflates. “Ugh. I hate this part. Here, lemme get the remote…” He pats the armrest, to no avail. “Must’ve.. dropped it.”

“Wait wait,” 8 interjects, holding up a hand, “What are they doing?”

3 glances at the screen as the humans begin participating in an old, romantic  ritual. For some reason, the agent feels some ink rise to his cheeks. “Uh… they're kissing. What? You don't know about that?”

“No, I do,” 8 blinks, turning his head to meet 3’s eyes, “I've seen Pearl and Marina--”

“Yeah, yeah, you and the rest of Inkopolis,” 3 attempts to dismiss the subject, “Help me find the remote.”

“Have you kissed before? Kissed someone, I mean.”

3 shifts awkwardly in his seat. His current teal-colored ink must be flooding his face. Wanting something to do with his hands, he brushes a tentacle out of his eyes. “Er, no, I haven't.” Why was this so embarrassing? He was an agent of a legendary splatoon! As if he'd have time for _kissing_ when he's saving the world. It wasn't as if it hadn't crossed his mind, but…

“Oh, me neither,” 8 gives him a goofy smile. It eases 3’s nerves.

Feeling slightly more confident with knowledge of their level playing field, 3 grins back at him. “What, the ladies with kelp on their heads didn't interest you?”

The octoling’s eyes go wide. “Huh? No, they’d kill me.”

3 blinks, his smile faltering. “Ah, yeah. That makes sense.”

8 leans back in the sofa, resting an elbow on the edge of the arm. “What about you? A super _cool_ octarian-fighting agent must be hunted down by potential mates.”

His friend’s language nearly makes him choke on his own ink. “ _Mates_? Wh- no, I'm hardly-” 3 furrows his brow whilst crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. “I don't care about any of that."

8 pauses. “Why not?”

“Because it's not important.”

There's a longer break in their conversation, then. 3 buries his chin and mouth in his turtleneck, and stares at nothing in particular. 8 shifts in his seat, opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Eventually, he works up enough courage to break their awkward silence.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

3’s face morphs from shock, to curiosity, to bashfulness in just a few moments before he glances over at his friend staring expectantly back at him. “Er… why?”

“Well, I figure since neither of us has done it before, it's a good way to find out.”

“Find out what?”

“If it’s important.”

3 blushes, and looks away. The word ‘no’ does not immediately come to mind, and he isn't sure why. Although Pearl had been quick to point out his prolonged stares at 8 when he thought he wasn't looking, the idea of possessing _feelings_ for the newest addition to the splatoon hadn't been… properly considered. Until now.

The couch cushion dips as weight is displaced next to him. 8 is moving closer.

“So…”

“Sure, whatever.” It slips out before 3 can think it through. The pressure makes him impulsive to act on his fluttering heart beats, and besides, at least he’d know for sure after this. Probably.

Finally, 3 turns towards the octoling, reluctantly untangling his arms from his chest. He rests one foot on the floor, while his other leg folds in horizontally before him on the couch. His companion sits in a similar fashion.

8 smiles gently at him. Only now does he realize why that smile makes his stomach dance. “You don't have to, you know, it was just a question.”

“You brought it up,” 3 huffs, “You gonna chicken out?”

“No, I'm just saying--”

“Just do it..!” The inkling puffs out his chest, and leans forward, bracing himself.

8 peers at him, noting how he’s squeezed his eyes shut, and pursed his lips. He recalls how the movie depicted the humans relaxing into each other. It seemed pleasant. 3 looks ready to be punched in the face. Inklings are so strange.

Agent 8 leans in and slowly pushes his mouth against 3’s tense lips. They're smooth, and warm where 8 presses close. He recalls their battle not too long ago, and the agent’s look of surefire determination before leaping down to attack. The memory makes him smile against his former foe’s mouth. 8 lingers for a moment, and then retreats, opening his eyes to watch for a reaction.

3 exhales, and cracks open his eyes as if something horrifying has just occurred, and he’s peeking in between the curtains.

“What did you think?” asks 8, brows raising. A blush to match his friend’s rises to his own cheeks.

“It was…” 3 squints at him, “Okay.”

“ _Okay_?”

“Yeah it was a’ight.”

“Oh hah hah,” 8 pouts, a pang of embarrassment making his stomach drop, “Well you’re not so great yourself.”

“What!”

“You're like a statue!”

“Yeah, well…” 3 looks away, attempting to appear nonchalant, “Maybe you should do it again.”

“No way,” 8 turns away, folding his arms, “You’re a jerk.”

“Wh--” 3 blinks, stammering for words, “Oh, come on. I was just… uh.”

“Just what?”

“You’re gonna make me say it?”

8 turns his head back towards the inkling. “Say what?”

“It…” 3 grunts, reaching up to rub the tar scarred skin under his right eye, “It was good. And...and I want…you to do it again.”

8 flushes magenta, nearly dark enough to match the tentacle on his head. “3, I…”

“D-do you want to?”

The octoling smiles sweetly. “I do.”

“You're not allowed to tell anyone,” 3 says as 8 scoots closer to him on the couch. “I have a reputation to--”

“I know.”

“And don't think this means we’re, like, a thing, or whatever, because I don't…” his ranting slows as 8 leans into his face, “don’t… need…hrm.”

“Kiss me.”

Agent 3 shuts up long enough to pucker his lips and shift in towards 8, who meets him halfway. It’s a bizarre thing to witness 3 go from a calm and collected warrior to a bumbling mess. 8 hopes he never forgets _this_.

This next kiss is much more enjoyable, as are the ones that follow. Their lips fit together and, after a beat, come apart only to press in once more. 3’s breath tastes like the tempura he ate just a little while ago, and Agent 8 can’t get enough of it.

Movement is slow and cautious. 8 isn't all that sure of what to do, but he remembers the humans tilting their heads when engaging. Deciding to try it, 8 finds their mouths are more comfortably snug when their noses are out of the way. 3 makes a sound, low and short. 8's hearts flutter.

In that moment, 8 wants to touch him - hold him so he can't wriggle away like he had so many times beneath Inkopolis. Sheepish hands place palms on either side of Agent 3’s face, and he opens his eyes for a moment to admire the inkling’s wrinkled brow, and teal-tinted cheeks. 

“What?” 3 asks, meeting his gaze. The damaged skin that Commander Tartar’s serum left behind is a chaotic blue-green amalgamation that slithers around his right eye. The usual honey color to his iris has changed to a pale teal. Scarring feels rough under 8’s fingertips, and he briefly allows his eyes to wander to 3’s wrinkled ear. Apparently the inkling’s headphones at the time hadn't taken so kindly to the tar either, and fried what was inside.

Somehow, 8 feels guilty for his friend’s injuries. It was a ridiculous, _emotional_ response, but logic doesn't ease his concern by much. After all, 3 would never have been there in the first place if 8 hadn't gotten involved.

“...Nothing,” 8 replies, smiling. 3’s damaged eye is partially shut compared to his other, though it does not affect how big and kind they could be. Mismatched and all. “It’s nothing.” As if to quiet his guilt, 8 kisses him again. And again, and again.

The octoling can't help the grin that forms as 3’s hands seek out his sides. Digits linger there for a moment, then slide further around to his lower back in an effort pull him just a bit closer. There’s something giddy and dizzying within the sensation of being held whilst kissing. 8’s chest hasn't felt this light since he observed the surface from a bird’s eye view.

What an absurd ritual. How silly, and pointless, and _wonderful_.

“ _Zzzhctkzzt_ \-- _Agent 3? Come in, Agent 3!_ ”

Their activity pauses. The inking exhales, and pulls away, barely realizing 8 is nearly in his lap. 8 takes a the opportunity to breathe. How long had it been since they started? It felt like hours. Clearing his throat, 3 pulls his communicator out of his safety jacket.

Voice cracking slightly, he answers the call. “Yeah? _What_ \-- _hrrm_ \-- what is it?”

“... _Are you okay? You sound sick_.” Captain Cuttlefish’s voice sounds only half concerned.

“I'm fine,” 3 rolls his eyes and glances at 8, who has since redirected his affectionate hand placement to his chest. “What’s up?”

“ _I need your help in sector 4, but there's no time to explain. You have to hurry!_ ”

“Is it really that urgent.”

“ _Yes! ...Well, no. But I still need your help._ ”

3 sighs. “On my way. Agent 3 out.” He ends the call with a flick of his finger, and slips the device back into his gear. Directing his attention back to 8, he hesitates. “Ah, hmn. Well I should… probably…”

“Oh!” Agent 8 had been preoccupied with their close proximity. Moving away feels wrong - he wants to stay nearby. He wants to keep 3’s hands on his hips. “Of course. Go ahead.”

3 carefully shimmies out and away from his friend, stands, and straightens out his collar. “Listen, uh,” he looks towards the ceiling, and then the television before meeting 8’s eyes, “I didn't- I mean, when I said I didn't want this to mean-- ah.” He scratches the back of his head. This is awkward. Why can't he articulate his thoughts? Maybe there’s nothing _to_ articulate. His feelings are muddled, and confusing. He’s immediately reminded why he never made an effort to pursue these sorts of things.

8 folds his legs under himself, and relaxes back into the sofa, his hands clasped and resting in his lap. “It's okay. We don’t have to--”

“That’s not what I mean,” 3 crosses his arms across his chest, “Do you want to… meet back up with me when this is done?”

8 stiffens, but smiles. “Sure.”

“Cool.” 3 turns to leave the room.

“--Did you find out?” 8 interjects before his friend can reach the door.

Agent 3 pauses in his stride. “Uh… if it was important?”

“Yeah.”

The inkling stares at the door, temptation to simply leave without answering creeping up in the background of his arguably nauseating thoughts. He turns his head as his hands ball into loose fists. “I'll tell you later, okay?”

8 cocks his head to the side, his grin as gentle as his eyes. 3 attempts to swallow the lump in his throat. Stupid octolings. “Okay,” 8 says with a nod.

“Cool,” wait, 3 already said that, “Uh… see you… later.” _Stupid, stupid!_ Not cool at all!

8’s grin widens. “See you later, Agent 3.”

With that, the inkling hastily makes for the door. He feels like he's about to throw up his own ink. Like all three of his hearts are about to explode and shrink into tiny pebbles at the same time. At least whatever task the captain has in mind will keep him preoccupied.

At this point, he just hopes the color of his face goes back to normal by the time he gets to Slimeskin Garrison. Although, he wouldn't complain if the taste of 8's lips remained for a while longer.  



End file.
